


This Life

by snarechan



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: War for Cybertron
Genre: Coming of Age, Gen, Self-Discovery, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:44:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarechan/pseuds/snarechan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not how Smokescreen imagined his military career going, but he'll make the most of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [demishock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/demishock/gifts).



> A mish-mash of _War for Cybertron_ and _Prime_ canons, meeting somewhere in-between to make plot babies happen.
> 
> Another best-friends-versary present to Cassandra Cassidy. Celebrating 10+ years together with giant robots, huzzah! Edited by Keppiehed, whose service is immeasurable.

Iacon, the final stronghold of the Autobots, was quiet. The whole expanse of the city-state was in shambles, having withstood enemy aggression and re-purposing down to its core foundation. Much had changed to hold out during the escalation of the war. The fighting was spread too thin beyond the reinforced walls, blockaded streets, and sheltered outposts to reach within the hollowed, makeshift fortress, but evidence of it contaminated everywhere. 

Not that Smokescreen witnessed what the once tall and proud civilization had been reduced to. He’d seen nothing but abandoned network stations and storage shelves for what seemed like forever. The scene outdoors would have been a welcome sight after his indefinite reassignment to the archives. 

He wasn’t bitter, but rather frustrated that his academy training had been interrupted so he could sparksit as far from the action as possible. No one was left here, none that he knew, at least. Those who hadn’t sided with the Decepticons or fled were experiencing the field. His comrades needed him, but he was stuck amongst datapads, instead. 

Smokescreen was on his third round of the basement floor. He often saved it for last because inspecting it was pointless. No one would have made it to that point without his knowing, but for lack of anything better to do he paced the empty halls until he grew bored. He’d developed a sort of routine like that. 

Next was to check in on his charge, who never moved far from his secluded corner deep in the Iacon library. That’s where he found Alpha Trion, like the time before, and the time before that. He could predictably be seen hunched over his large, as-ancient-looking-as-he-was tome. There was no knowing what was being documented, for the old-timer was secretive and overprotective of his self-assigned task. But, Smokescreen reasoned, it must be why he was so highly regarded as to be given his own personal guard when so few forces could be spared. Still, what he could possibly be garnering from this deep underground was beyond him.

“Hey.” Smokescreen greeted him but didn’t receive a response. He continued undeterred, “Any ‘Cons been bothering you?”

“Not this hour, young steward,” Alpha Trion answered without looking away from his work. 

“Great. _Just_ great,” he said, expecting the response, but disappointed nonetheless. 

His security detail fulfilled for the day, Smokescreen moved onto weapons maintenance. The firearms and other tools he’d been taught to employ were unused, still shining from when last he cared for them, but the habit was one he would not break. He wanted to be ready at any given moment, needing to trust that his only line of defense hadn’t fallen into disrepair because of disuse. 

A tiny desk stationed in the room had been claimed as his own amongst the endless hard drives and wires, and he took a seat there now. The room was silent as Smokescreen disassembled his right cannon arm, adjusting the settings and cleaning the smaller parts therein. Alpha Trion was even quieter, his writing drowned out by the soft noises of tinkering. It was creepy how quiet it could get in their lonely part of the world. 

“I thought I heard laser fire earlier,” Smokescreen noted aloud, if only for his own benefit. 

He’d grown accustomed to hearing nothing save his own voice in times like this, as Alpha Trion's distance from the war was not just in length. His interests stemmed no further than a practical observer at best and an indifferent accomplice at worst. This made for stunted conversation, given that they shared in very little else in common. Smokescreen was driven to keep himself occupied with whatever tidbits he had at his disposal, though. 

“I’d hoped it was the troops returning, but it was just one of the lights shorting out.” He finished his short story, as much a lament then as when he’d made the discovery. “Still no word from the front; communications have been down because of enemy interference. I’m not worried, though. I bet Optimus Prime is beating Decepticons left and right while the tech guys get their act together.”

“Do not be so quick to assume such violence,” Alpha Trion chided, but there was a lack of reprimand to his words. His attention remained on his work. “The Prime’s intellect is not to be underestimated, for in fact, it has led to more victories than outright brutality. No doubt he is aiding in the repairs of what could be the difference between utter defeat and tactical advantage.”

“You know,” Smokescreen said, turning his chair towards him, “I think that’s the most you’ve ever spoken to me. 

“And how would you know? We’re stuck here, in this empty place, and he’s…well. He has to be the toughest to be a Prime, right? Why would he bother with such a mundane task when there’s a fight to be won somewhere? Not that I’m saying he’s dumb, but his skills would be better suited somewhere else.”

Alpha Trion chuckled; the older Cybertronian was full of surprises for Smokescreen that day. 

“While a data clerk, the now Optimus Prime developed quite a talent for transmissions development. Surely he would be concerned with communications being online to broadcast warnings or plans of defense to those under his leadership.”

Smokescreen stared, deep in thought, a moment before blurting the most important observation he made. “You…knew Optimus Prime?”

Though his knowledge of Alpha Trion was limited, it’d been made clear to him that he’d once run the entire establishment of the Iacon Archives for millenniums. Thus, data clerks had once been under his direct tutelage. It was a bizarre discovery to make in one sitting, both the fact that the leader of the Autobots had once resided in such a humble station, and that this whole time he was dwelling with someone that had direct knowledge of him. 

“Indeed,” was all Alpha Trion said, startling Smokescreen into a long, rapid string of questioning. 

“What was he like?” he ended upon, finally giving his vents the chance to circulate air. Smokescreen had sat up straighter in his seat and repositioned to the edge of it in anticipation, his arm left at half-completion. 

Alpha Trion paused, hand flicking his writing utensil as if adjusting his wrist, before resuming. He never looked up during that or the time he said, “He is as he’s always been. _That_ is what sealed his fate as bearer of the core of all things.”

The youth tilted his head. “That’s not really an answer. Is it?”

“If you seek to know more, then simply look around you,” Alpha Trion said. Sensing his thoughts, he continued as soon as Smokescreen lifted a finger and opened his mouth to make an inquiry. “Aisle 356 of the military division on sublevel gamma.”

“Aisle 356. Military division. Sublevel gamma, got it,” Smokescreen parroted, offering a mock salute of two fingers at his temple as he swiveled in his chair to seal his arm. 

Finished with that, he left to search out the area Alpha Trion had instructed. The section of the Iacon Archives was as undisturbed as the rest of the establishment; however, it looked more recently updated. Smokescreen scanned the different shelves, elation filling him for the first time since he’d arrived there: he was surrounded by hundreds… _thousands_ of digital logs. 

Some records pre-dated the war itself! There were also personal accounts from numerous witnesses, soldiers, and ranked officials on countless battles. He grabbed one at random, activating it to discover an audio file from a warrior named Ironhide – _the_ Iron Clad Champion himself – reporting on an earlier conflict. There were parts of the legendary assault that he hadn’t read in the official report listed in the Autobot databanks. 

Smokescreen sat down on the spot and listened to all of it. 

Then he grabbed another, the next a personal testimony by Optimus Prime. As their leader’s words washed over him, recounting his impressions of the enemy, Smokescreen wasn’t sure how to feel. This was the first time he’d actually heard him. His class hadn’t allowed him access to the vast networks that relayed information, nor permitted him to enter the halls of their council to witness firsthand the coronation of their leader. Coupled with the fact he had yet to be appointed to combat readiness… A heaviness unlike anything Smokescreen had ever experienced swelled inside him, causing his hands to tighten on the device he already held tightly. 

He replayed the message, not once, but five times. Smokescreen listened aptly, committing everything said to memory. After the last, he glanced around his surroundings, Optimus Prime’s voice echoing in the vacant space. In a fit of frustration, he tossed the datapad away, and it slid to land somewhere near the end of the passageway. His chin pressed into his knee as he regretted the fact he was stuck here, unable to contribute to the war effort. 

Autobots everywhere were making something of themselves: defending their home, the lives of their brothers and sisters, or their Prime. Everyone else was doing something to save Cybertron, except him. He and Alpha Trion, whose total lack of concern for the planet he resided on was borderline catatonic. Smokescreen realized he had the proficiency to help the cause, but his talents were being wasted so far from the fighting. 

“If only I had known…” the thrown log repeated, muffled due to the file having landed facedown, but Smokescreen understood it despite the interference. Optimus Prime’s distinct and somber tone of voice was forever ingrained in his mind, as were his message. _If only he had known…?_

“Someday, then,” Smokescreen muttered, transferring his head to rest on the palm of his hand instead. Listening to their leader speak was weirdly soothing, and brought to mind that if Optimus Prime was once a ‘lowly’ archivist, then perhaps a simple first class soldier could become something great, too. Until then, he wasn’t going to waste his life anymore. Reaching up to the second shelf, he pulled out a heavy device and examined the title. 

“Chronology of the Wreckers, huh?” he mused aloud and activated it. 

Alpha Trion could sit in his dusty corner of the Iacon library doing nothing, but Smokescreen was determined to be prepared for when the action came to _him._ He’d learn what the sidelines had to offer him and be ready when he was summoned; there wouldn’t be any surprises when he got there. He’d prove to the other Autobots that he was more than just a glorified bodyguard, and make his fellows proud if it was the last thing he ever did.

-Fin-


End file.
